Monster
by BlueLight
Summary: Spike encounters a monster from his past, himself. Final Chapter. Get out your hankies. Gonna make somebody cry. A final epiphany for Evil!Spike.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Monster  
  
Author: BlueLight  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  
  
Blurb: Spike flees from Buffy but encounters a monster from his past. Chapter 1: (rewrite) Formica, fear, brawl, cry, crouch, pretend, defiance not submission, hide-and-go-seek, one, two, three, and BAD SPIKE! (Later redemption promised)  
  
Acknowledgement: Thanks to LadyStarlight for her advise and editing.  
  
Distribution: Fine, just let me know where.  
  
Reviews, constructive criticism requested.  
  
Feedback: Please. So I learn what works and what doesn't.  
  
*******************************************  
  
Run  
  
The shop was all white Formica, shiny chrome and stainless steel. Tiny place. Just the counter, a couple of booths and a grill. No separate kitchen area. It had seen better days. A few cracks here and there but mostly it was still clean and friendly, a lonely puddle of brightness in a dark and abandoned industrial district.  
  
He swept in, unnoticed by the blond waitress as she cleaned the grill. No one in the diner but her and him. That was okay. He didn't really want to be near anyone tonight. He tended to get maudlin and babble when he was sad. Abandoning Sunnydale, trying to leave Buffy was tearing him up. He needed a drink. That was next on his list. But first a snack. Something to take the edge off his hunger.  
  
He sat down at the end of the counter near the door. Picked up the menu, looked at the pictures. Wished he knew where to buy blood in LA at three in the morning. Wished he knew why food always look better on a menu than on a plate. He flipped through the shiny plastic pages. No blooming onions. No spicy wings. Was there anything spicy or tasty on this menu?  
  
There was a crash and he looked up to see the waitress gaping at him, fear and horror in her face.  
  
He'd seen that face before. Well, not that specific face, not that he remembered, but that look. Usually when he had them in his arms about to bite, his angel face morphing into his demon one. God, how he missed it. Missed being invulnerable, back before her small hands had reached in and plucked out his heart. But this girl, this blond, she was backing away from him like he was still dangerous. Her cry brought it all back. The time when he had nothing to fear. Not even a little blond Slayer.  
  
Like Buffy this girl was a bleached blond, young like Buffy, nice shape but not so tiny. She started to look familiar. Some unfinished meal. Anne it said on her name tag.  
  
He got up, more in recognition of the fact that she wasn't about to fix him any food than anything else. When he did she scrambled back to the far end of the counter, as far from him as she could go without digging into the wall. It just made him…happy, happy to see this blond girl afraid of him. SHE wouldn't be punching him or dumping him. He knew that he could leap the counter, corner her and, as long as he didn't bite her or deliberately try to hurt her, he could do anything he wanted. Probably bend her over the counter and stick it in and she wouldn't resist. He thought about it briefly. Her blondness. But she was more likely to remind him of Harmony than Buffy. Not an erotic picture. And he had never been one to force himself on a girl. If they weren't willing he wasn't able. Well he was able but he wasn't willing. She didn't look enough like Buffy to overcome his dislike of playing with food. He'd had to tolerate enough of that with Dru. He wondered if he could get her to let him bite her. Be a nice snack even if the chip wouldn't let him drain her dry.  
  
But mostly it was nice to see the fear. Smell it. Someone who didn't know he was neutered. Who didn't know he was more helpless than she though she was, who didn't know he couldn't fight her or any human.  
  
Then a thought came to him. He couldn't fight her. He couldn't eat her. But he could hunt her. He wanted a hunt. When he was human most men of his class loved hunting. Ducks at dawn, shotguns barking over a lake. Horses and hounds and tearing a fox to bits. Going out with a ferret and a terrier. The ferret running rats out of one side of a nest and the terrier killing them as they came out the other. He never fancied it himself. Seemed one-sided. The animals not having guns. But once he was a vampire and had to hunt to eat, the hunt became something he occasionally relished.  
  
He still preferred a brawl, him against a dozen, something he could lose, some exploit that proved his prowess. Side effect of having been a human wimp, inheriting the never-ending task of proving he was a bigger bad than anyone else alive or dead. Funny how he felt more manly letting Buffy push him around than he did when he was pummeling anyone else. The thought of Buffy brought a twist of pain, the memory of her shame when Riley caught them together. The contempt and brutality she had shown him. Of how she had broke it off between them. Couldn't stand the idea it was so easy for her to crush his heart. That was why he was running from Sunnydale, why he had gathered the little he had and fled. Into the Desoto, it still day, peering out through the little slit, and drive, Drive, DRIVE. Running away. From her. From the pain of not having her, of knowing he would never have her again. Running from the desire to put himself in her way, to make her want him again, to catch her in a weak moment and pin her to the floor, stake her through the night, even if it hurt her, killed her, turned them both to dust.  
  
He forced Buffy out of his mind turned his thoughts toward the blond girl and an evening's entertainment.  
  
He thought of how plenty of well-fed office workers would gird up in camouflage and go out in the cold looking for something to kill. Not for food but for fun. You even saw them on TV, hauling their fat asses through the leaves, rifles at the ready, pretending the hunt mattered. Maybe he could pretend too. She was scared enough to give a good run. And she wouldn't know she was running for his sport instead of her life. He could spook this girl and have his hunt. He could pretend he was still evil, still the big bad and blond girls didn't make him weep.  
  
He took a step toward her. She gave an involuntary cry, like a ghost had stepped on her toe.  
  
Hmmmm.  
  
How to get her out from behind that counter and running without her catching on….  
  
He let his game face slide into place and leapt up onto the smooth Formica surface. Then down behind the counter. He slowly approached her, letting his fangs show, hoping she would climb over the counter and bolt out the door. Instead she was frozen with fear, paralyzed.  
  
"Hello, little girl. Do you think you could take my order? My stomach's growling and I really would fancy you helping me to find a snack."  
  
She didn't move.  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
He finally reached her and she crouched down, cowering in front of him. He knew a lot of men loved that kind of thing. Even a lot of vampires. Made them feel masculine. He found it repellent. Give him a challenge, not a slaughter. Defiance not submission. He loved how Buffy would never surrender, not to anything or anyone. This chit was shaking in fear.  
  
He walked up to her till his legs were pressing up against her quaking knees, her face at cock level. If only she was Buffy. Buffy would knock him through the plate glass window then follow to punch him out. Or she might pull his legs out from under him and take him there on the floor. But this weak little blond…animal just quaked.  
  
He reached down and grabbed her by the hair at the nape of her neck. Gently so the chip would go off. Pulled her up till she was eye level. Whispered in her ear,  
  
"I'm bored little girl. How about you help me have some fun? What do you say?"  
  
The animal didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, she was almost in shock, her head twisted to the side, exposing her neck, which he proceeded to lick. She shuddered as his tongue stroked her flesh.  
  
He pulled back and shook her slightly, "What do you say, little girl? Wanna help?"  
  
He shook her again. No response. This was beginning to bore him. And make him feel a little guilty. He put his lips near her ears and yelled,  
  
"WAKE UP!!"  
  
She winced and her eyes popped open, the pupils dilated, terrified.  
  
Too scared to run, she was.  
  
He pushed down his demon mask and let her get used to his human face. Still holding her, he whispered, "Well little girl, like I told you, I'm bored. And hungry. What's say we play a game. I step back. Let you go and you run. You run and I chase. Even give you a head start. If you get away, then you get away. If I catch you, then I get my…snack."  
  
He put his lips up against her ear, so his breath moved the hair hanging over it.  
  
"What say, little girl? Wanna play? Or just wanna feed me?"  
  
He abruptly released her and stepped back. She started to fall then caught herself and stood up. She stood looking at him for a moment. He backed up along the counter, his hand sliding along its length. When he was almost to the end near the door he stopped.  
  
And smiled at her, his most evil, blood-chilling smile.  
  
"I'll give you to a count of 100."  
  
Then he turned and faced the wall, leaned into it and put his arm against its smooth surface. He pressed his eyes against the black leather over his forearm, and started to count, "One, two, three, four, five…"  
  
He heard her clamber over the counter, falling onto the floor as she did, heard her get up and run and fall again. He lifted his head from his arm, looked over his shoulder and, glancing behind him, caught her eyes and smiled, doing the "Remember I'm Evil" smile again.  
  
She was paralyzed for a moment, stunned by his eyes. Then she sprang up, ran to the door, threw it open and fled into the dark.  
  
"Eleven, twelve, thirteen…"  
  
***************************************************  
  
FeedBack: Reviews or constructive criticism requested. Hell if you hated it and found it unreadable I need to know that too. Or how do I get better. 


	2. The Hunt

Title: Monster  
  
Author: BlueLight  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  
  
Blurb: Spike flees from Buffy but encounters a monster from his past. Pt 2: The Hunt: Spicy, forced, no people, laughing, growling, desperate, smelling the blood and BAD SPIKE! (Later redemption promised)  
  
Acknowledgement: Thanks to LadyStarlight for her advise and editing.  
  
Distribution: Fine, just let me know where.  
  
Reviews, constructive criticism requested.  
  
Feedback: Please. So I learn what works and what doesn't.  
  
*******************************************  
  
The Hunt  
  
Once she was out of the door he stopped counting.  
  
And started looking around the diner. Found a half eaten box of chicken she had evidently brought for lunch. "SPICY!" Oh, nice girl, he thought. Lunch and fun.  
  
He sprang over the counter, carrying the chicken with him. Made fast work of it then threw the box down. He went out on the street, into the dark to listen. He could hear her about four blocks down, running flat out, down the echoing street. He remembered a grocery store, gas station, fast food place not too far from her. That wouldn't do. She was trying to spoil his fun.  
  
He ran like the wind. Like a vampire on the hunt. Came up behind her silently. Turned into an alley and then through a cross alley, leaping over an abandoned sofa, around piles of old tires, past drifts of bottles lining the alley like shiny stones. Then to the next street she would cross. Then flew to the corner and slowed and stepped out in front of her just as she was about to pass him. She skidded to a stop then, breathing heavily, both of them exposed by the corner street light, its glow cloned in a dozen puddles. She sprinted across the cracked gray asphalt river, its white lines fading into the worn surface. He moved with her. Staying between her and where she wanted to go. He closed the distance between them, forced her back, herded her into the old industrial park with its decaying buildings, some half fallen down, some structurally sound but locked and dark since before she was born. He drove her back into the dark. Into desolation.  
  
Everything was going so well. The area was ideal. The cluttered alleys. Broken sidewalks. Empty buildings. No people. Perfect place for a hunt. Every place she turned he got in front of her. Grinning. Enjoying the chase. No one to interfere. No place for her to go. No way for her to escape.  
  
He drove her this way and that, rushing at her, then backing off, laughing then growling. Coming up in front of her so suddenly she would crash into him, terrified. Chip wouldn't fire for that. Playing like a cat with a mouse. Letting her see his demon face when she slowed, morphing back to his human one when she started to go frozen with terror. He was in no hurry. Her eyes were wide with fright, the whites visible all around the irises. Blondie looked this way and that, looking for help, looking for some place worth running, some place safe or safer. She collapsed against a light pole, rust running up its dented gray surface like a leafless red vine. He let her rest a minute, alone in the light, while he circled just outside it, keeping to the shadows.  
  
She was winded, panting, whining a little, crying in fear as she hung there, circling the pole to watch him as he circled the light. Her face was red and mottled, snot running from her nose, tears on her cheeks, her mouth open, trying to pull in more air, to catch her breath so she could run again. Desperate for life.  
  
He felt a brief moment of …pity. Pushed it out of his mind. She was his prey. Wouldn't hurt her to run a little. She was lucky he couldn't kill her. Though he knew if he had been on a real hunt he would have done it already. She would have suffered little. Little pain. No more than a moment of fear. He didn't draw his kills out. He wasn't Angel. Or Darla. Or Dru. He ate because his demon demanded it. Not because it gave him any joy. No more than the hunts he had avoided during his life.  
  
Her breathing was less labored now, her heart slower though still racing. She turned and ran down the middle of the street, as though being in the open might keep her safe. He silently ran up behind her and touched her on the shoulder. She screamed, flinched aside and, turning, ran to the left, through the gate of an old chain link fence, rusted and sagging, a swathe of white plastic hanging from it, fluttering in the wind like a ghost.  
  
He trotted behind her, giving her some room, across an old parking lot, gravel, broken concrete, grass or dead weeds growing from every crack, glass shards shinning like wet blood. Stiff brown weeds slashed her legs as she stumbled through them. He could smell blood trailing from the cuts. She reached the fence at the far side of the parking lot. It looked rusty but it was tall and intact with wicked razor wire sagging from its top. Trapped. He could see her desperation increase as he approached her. He let his demon face slide into place and charged.  
  
***************************************************  
  
FeedBack: Reviews or constructive criticism requested. Hell if you hated it and found it unreadable I need to know that too. Or how do I get better. 


	3. The Demon

Title: Monster  
  
Author: BlueLight  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  
  
Blurb: Spike flees from Buffy but encounters a monster from his past, himself. Pt 3: The Demon: Including Dried blood, soulless monster, Buffy stand-in, no longer playing, a killer and Evil Spike!  
  
Acknowledgement: Thanks to LadyStarlight for her advise and editing.  
  
Distribution: Fine, just let me know where.  
  
Reviews, constructive criticism requested.  
  
Feedback: Please. So I learn what works and what doesn't.  
  
*******************************************  
  
The Demon  
  
He charged, fully possessed by his demon, went for the girl like he was grabbing for the gusto. She screamed, turned and ran. His head exploded into fire, blinded by the pain he bounced off the fence then fell back on it, his fingers looped into the wire to hold himself up. Squeezing his eyes closed, he pushed his forehead into the wire, waiting for relief. The pain finally ended.  
  
He laughed. Let go and laughed.  
  
Fool. To forget. To forget that there was no point in any of this. To forget he was muzzled by the chip.  
  
He turned his head and watched her running up a concrete incline toward the gaping door of an old building. Its walls were yellow-white in the moonlight, waves of rust stains curling down their sides like dried blood. The chit's pale hair gleamed too. He stopped and thought of Buffy's hair shining in the moonlight. Felt the twist of love and desire that any though of her brought. Then thought of how she would feel about what he was doing. It would prove that she was right about him, wouldn't it?  
  
Fuck the bitch. He would never see her again. Nothing he did was ever enough for her. Nothing he did ever touched her. He was always beneath her. Always the soulless monster. Someone dead inside. Someone who couldn't feel anything.  
  
FUCK THE BITCH!!  
  
He couldn't free himself from the pain that was Buffy. Not by loving her. Not by running from her. Not even by killing her. But this chit he could kill. The chip would make it hard but he would find a way. She would be his Buffy stand-in. The first step to freeing himself from the pain. Close every door. Put up every barrier. Make it impossible for him to ever again fool himself that Buffy would EVER accept him.  
  
He turned and listened. He could hear the sound of her feet echoing off hard walls, splashing through puddles, her breath raspy. He loped after her. No longer playing. Death his purpose. A killer.  
  
***************************************************  
  
FeedBack: Reviews or constructive criticism requested. Hell if you hated it and found it unreadable I need to know that too. Or how do I get better. 


	4. The Man

Title: Monster  
  
Author: BlueLight  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  
  
Blurb: Spike flees from Buffy but encounters a monster from his past, himself. Final Chapter. Get out your hankies. Gonna make somebody cry. A final epiphany for Evil Spike.  
  
Acknowledgement: Thanks to LadyStarlight for her advise and editing.  
  
Distribution: Fine, just let me know where.  
  
Reviews, constructive criticism requested.  
  
Feedback: Please. So I learn what works and what doesn't.  
  
*******************************************  
  
The Man  
  
He closed the distance to the open door. Inside the streetlight filtered in through high windows, each pane painted a slightly different color, making a mosaic chipped in burgundy, red, pink, and white. The ceiling was three stories up, catwalks below it. The floor was littered with old pallets, rusting 55-gallon drums, a toppled pyramid of ripped and half rotten mattresses and, the common detritus of urban decay, broken bottles. The roof was half open to the sky and shallow puddles covered the concrete floor, ripples still moving where a running figure had disturbed them.  
  
He picked up a couple of drums and used them to block the door. He searched for openings in the structure's gray stone walls. The walls were damp. Some sections were faintly green with moss, some covered in black mold and some, under old pipes or supports, swirled with patterns of rust. Rusty pipes, rusty supports, rusty barrels, rusty walls. The building was bleeding iron oxide. He found three other entrances but their doors were still solid and locked. No way out for her there. Now it was just him and her. He was hobbled but he could still hurt. Indirectly at least. He summoned all the anger he hadn't allow himself to feel toward Buffy, all the bitterness in his heart, all the memories of the pain she had put him through and rolled them around in his mind like an emotional fireball, searing his thoughts into pure malice. Then turned that malice toward something he didn't love. Toward a blond animal hiding in the dark.  
  
"Allie, allie, oxen free.." he sang softly, letting his cries echo off the stone walls. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he crooned.  
  
He walked across the water, letting his feet pop the puddle with each step. Still calling to her he crossed to the far end of the building, where he could hear her hidden heartbeat accelerate, where he could smell her fear and how she had peed herself while hiding.  
  
"Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of a …" He stopped. Thinking of the last time he had said those words. When he had been trying to kill Buffy at her high school. Still barely knowing her. Already, well, wanting to kill her, but attracted to her and forcing down thoughts of having his hands on her. Again the twist in his heart, just thinking about her, wanting her so much, anyway she wanted it. Forget the sex. If she would just talk to him. Let him patrol with her. Hang about. God, anything, Anything, ANYTHING to convince her he wasn't a monster. Anything.  
  
The girl suddenly shot out from behind a row of drums. He half snatched at her but missed and she fled past him, took a leap and landed on the sagging, metal staircase running up the side of the wall, up to the roof. She made it up about ten feet before the stairs started to collapse, one riser after another coming loose as the girl scrambled higher.  
  
In the dim light he saw a young blond girl struggling for her life against a monster who meant to take it. So many times he'd seen another blond girl doing the same. This one wasn't strong and fearless. This one had only terror and her panicked desire to live driving her on. But still, they were the same. This one was a substitute for Buffy. And this one was about to fall and die.  
  
The girl struggled to hold on to the slowly collapsing structure. Already the bottom had broken away and clanged loudly into the concrete below it. There was no way down for her. He made a move toward her but the falling metal was too much like the organ whose collapse had left him crippled for so long. She clawed up it desperately, hanging on the rusty steps, moving toward the opening in the roof. She grabbed its edge just as the rest of the stairway lurched away from her, settling about ten feet down, precariously teetering on a few rusted supports. When she lost her grip she would be impaled on its rusty skeleton and ride it down to her death.  
  
She hung from the opening, her hands slipping.  
  
He watched. Buffy said he couldn't feel. But he did feel. He felt love for Buffy. And Dawn. He hurt when they hurt. Buffy was the center of his universe. Had been the center. Now he was abandoned, cast back into a dark world where he didn't fit anymore. Where, truth be told, he didn't want to fit anymore. He wanted to feel. And he did. He felt sorrow for this girl. Thinking of how broken she would be when her hands let go and she fell and hit the metal and concrete beneath her. Like Buffy fell and lay broken and dead on a pile of rocks.  
  
He ran away from that sight, back to where the roof gaped open to the sky, then gathering all his demon strength, jumped, caught the edge and pulled himself up. Ran as fast as he could to the opening where the girl dangled, slipping away, and reached down for her. Looking up she saw his face and approaching hand. She gasped and let go. He pushed his body half down through the hole and grabbed her as she fell, pulled her up through the opening, up on the roof, then fell back with her on top of him.  
  
They lay there a minute. The girl gasping, her heart thumping like a jackhammer.  
  
He looked up at the sky. The clouds had blown away the moon looked a pure bright white. He wondered what Buffy was looking at right then.  
  
The girl rolled off him and into a crouching position, casting her eyes around, looking for a way out. She dragged herself up tiredly and backed away.  
  
He could read her face. There was nothing on the roof but them. And no way for her to get off the roof. At least not alive.  
  
He stood up. Put his foot through a rotten section and almost went down through the roof to the concrete below. He carefully moved away from the hole, noticing how soft and unstable the boards beneath his feet were. He needed to get her down. Get them both down. He could jump and he could catch her if she would jump into his arm. If he could get her to trust him.  
  
He put his hands up in a "calm down" motion. Tried to talk to her.  
  
"Easy, luv. Stay still. Whole roof's rotten. Just stay still."  
  
She continued to back away from him. Her arms wrapped around herself. Her face streaked with tears, her uniform torn and dirty, her stockings in shreds, one shoe gone, probably caught on the rusted metal below.  
  
"Don't mean you any harm. Couldn't hurt you if I wanted to. Got this chip in my head. Can't hurt anyone. Can't hurt you."  
  
She continued to back away. He tried to get closer, to catch her, so he could get her down to safety.  
  
"Stay still. I promise I won't hurt you. I won't hurt anyone. I don't want to anymore. I'm a better man. I'm not a monster anymore. I promi…"  
  
She suddenly disappeared with a cry that ended too soon with a soft thud. There was only a hole where she had been.  
  
Spike didn't look down. He didn't want to see. He'd seen a girl broken in a fall before. He went down on his knees and cried. Cried for all the things he had done in his life, all the hurt and harm he had done and this was just one more thing. He cried for all he had killed. And, to be true, he also cried for himself knowing he would never have Buffy, that she could never love him because he was a monster, and cried because he was a monster. Evil unchanging.  
  
Finally dawn neared and he leapt from the roof, went back to his car and drove, where he didn't care.  
  
And Anne who had been Lily who had been Chantarelle lay on the pile of wet mattresses that had broken her fall, listening to him go and waiting quietly for the sun.  
  
***************************************************  
  
FeedBack: Reviews or constructive criticism requested. Hell if you hated it and found it unreadable I need to know that too. Or how do I get better. 


End file.
